When I am old I shall wear purple...hats.
I hope you've come over from A.S. Fenichel and her guilty pleasure.
I have always loved hats. The more outrageous the better. When I was younger and could get away with wearing them.
(vintage turban with awesome rhinestone pin)
I wore them. Yes, all of them.
(vintage pith helmet made in India, with real sweatstains in the headband)
Well maybe not this one.
(1972 marching band hat)
I’ve been collecting since I was in high school. My family plots on how to hurry me past vintage shops so I don’t “pop in for a second, just to look.”
I have one of almost every kind of hat that I want. Except for a vintage Shriner’s fez. I’ve been keeping my eye on ebay for a good one with lots of embroidery.
I’m at an awkward age for hate. Teenage offspring are already too humiliated by my pants/voice/car/mere presence to tolerate me in one of my vintage hats. Plus, I have this professional life where I'm expected to look like a typical professional person.
But summer gives me an opportunity for one of my straw ones. And the only thing I like about winter is the good excuse to pop something on my noggin.
I have a plan, though. Sometime in about 15 years, I’ll be old enough to wear my lovelies again. Because when you are old, you can do whatever the heck you want, and people smile at you. The way they smile at a 4 year old playing dress up.
(unsure of origin, but likely a WWI nurses hat from Italy)
Until then, they’ll be proudly displayed in my house, on a rotation, so each one gets a chance to show itself off.
But they are patient, and they know one day, they’ll sit atop my head and go for a stroll.
Go on over to Victoria Barbour to find out about her guilty pleasure.